


Ghosts Don't Talk

by Griffy (honklust)



Series: Monkey Wrench [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Breaking and Entering, Canon-Typical Violence, Diet Coke, Face-Fucking, Fake AH Crew, First Time Blow Jobs, Gavin's a prick, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, Mentions of temporary character death, Recreational Drug Use, Sub Ryan Haywood, Subspace, The Vagabond, Top Gavin Free, brief mention of a fictional ex wife, violence in a sexual context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honklust/pseuds/Griffy
Summary: If he'd known killing that guy at the club was going to wind up with him sitting up all night with some rando threatening him via text, he probably wouldn't have bothered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains graphic descriptions of violence and brief but gory murder, cocaine use, as well as unrecommended s/m practices. Please proceed with caution and don't read if you're under 18. Thanks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited this chapter just slightly to make it flow a little better. Smut's in chapter two!

The water running down the drain is an ugly brown-pink color - tinted with old, already dried blood. It reminds him of his youth, of going hunting with his dad and his uncle, of the way a deer would steam in the cool autumn air when you went to skin it. 

The bags under his eyes seem darker than usual, when he looks up at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t even had the forethought to don any grease paint on this outing - rookie mistake. Foolish. 

The Vagabond was getting sloppy.

Maybe part of him wanted to get caught, to see the look on the pig’s face that would inevitably kill him. Raw, stupid thrill, most likely. The dawning realization that he’d felled a new legend. 

Would they even know who he was, if he died outside of the mask?

He kind of wants a cigarette - a habit he’d dropped back in college - but he knows he isn’t going to go through the effort to run back out to the store and buy some. Besides, he doesn’t have a new ID yet.

The lines on his face remind him that he probably doesn’t need one, actually. Not with the way his hairline is receding.

He’s been on his own out here for, what, six months now? Independent contracting. Los Santos was the best market for paid assassinations that he could’ve asked for, but it was already starting to feel kind of stale. He’d run all the way here from Georgia, from his family and his mistakes, and even now he was still getting bored.

Wondered if anyone would bother fingerprinting the crime scene he’d just left. Wondered if they’d match his prints back to one deceased man from the south and give up on it. 

He was untouchable now, and maybe that was what was really eating at him. The ease that came with this shit. Pop a bullet in a skull and leave. Slit a throat, turn around, go back home, reheat dinner. Get your paycheck in the form of a stack of unmarked bills and spend the money on more frozen meals for next week’s dinner.

Maybe he was just getting lonely.

He ran his damp hands across his face, felt the scratchy stubble on his cheeks. He was going a little grey, he mused. If it were anyone else, he’d chock it up to stress, but he didn’t think he was stressed. Nah. Just _bored._

He made his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off as he went. Maybe he should get a dog or something. The apartment was nice, but empty -- so empty that the only thing he’d really added since he’d moved in was a bed, a couch, a dresser, and a humidifier. Maybe he should go shopping.

Maybe he should do a lot of things.

The bed he’d bought himself was nice - one of those fancy pants Casper’s he had always kind of had an eye on back when he was a young, debt-ridden Theatre major. If you could afford a nice mattress for you and your wife, you’d practically made it in life, right?

He was getting caught up thinking about her again - thinking about the mistakes he’d made and the things he couldn’t undo, even if he had really wanted to - when his cell phone buzzed on his side table.

It wasn’t the cheap burner that he’d bought for jobs, rather the nice smart phone he’d gotten explicitly for _personal_ reasons. Personal reasons that mostly amounted to playing mobile games.

He expected an app notification or a spam email, but what he found himself looking at was a text message. 

**[Blocked Number:] hey, luv. nice work earlier! went and left me with a nasty scar :(**

What the fuck? What… the fuck? 

He actually, for a moment, wondered if he was somehow hallucinating. Or… Maybe it was just some cryptic wrong-number. 

He locked his phone and put it face-down on the mattress, blinking at it dumbly in the dark bedroom. The clock on the nightstand ticked. 

Buzz. Buzz.

He kept still for a little while longer, looking at the iPhone like it was a bomb that might detonate if he decided to touch it. Of course, that was stupid. It was just a text. It wasn’t like the person who’d sent it could hurt him. Not through a fucking screen, anyway.

The sound of a car driving by down on the street below startled him more than he’d like to admit. He was breathing slow and steady, like he was on a job. Christ, Haywood, relax.

The phone buzzed in his hand once more when he picked it up and he almost fucking dropped it, his eyes once more focusing on the text boxes. 

**[Blocked Number:] aw, don’t ignore me :(((**

**[Blocked Number:] i wanna talk to ya, mr haywood! Mano e mano! This time without so much violence, perhaps**

“What the...fuck.” He mumbled, feeling his blood turn to ice in his veins. How did this person know his name? Was this a threat? 

Despite the fact that it was terrifying on multiple levels - the idea that some random stranger, someone he’d presumably _assumed dead_ \- was now sending him cutesy text messages… It was also kind of… exciting.

There was something so nice about adrenaline, about the threat of something new and strange and dangerous. 

He didn’t know how to respond, so he just sat there and stared at the little keyboard for a while. Whoever they were, they _also_ had an iPhone - at least he could tell that much from the fact that they were sending him iMessages. That was a clue. Not one that meant anything, but still.

He was wracking his brain trying to think of anyone he might’ve only _partially_ stabbed, and he really couldn’t come up with much. He did a lot of killings, but usually he did them pretty fucking thoroughly! That was kind of the point, wasn’t it?

There was the ginger guy with the ugly blazer. And the fat banker. And the lawyer. And then, earlier, when he’d decided to get a little sloppy, there’d been the guy with the messy hair doing coke in the bathroom--

Certainly not that one, though. The last one had been very recent, and had been an unpaid thing. An errand he’d gone on on impulse while he was at the bar. Blowing off a little steam.

And that guy had wound up _definitely_ dead. He could still feel the way his skull had shattered against the sink basin. Wet and loud, the cracking sensation vibrating all the way up his arm, making him feel alive for such a brief, blessed moment. 

The next buzz brought his focus back. He’d been reminiscing a bit.

**[Blocked Number]: i can see that youve read my messages, idiot**

**[Blocked Number]: kinda fat looking from this angle lol**

**[Blocked Number]: bit old for the criminal life i would wager, but hey. not always a bad thing**

 

Ryan felt another wave of icy fear swell in his stomach, this one trailed by a shudder -- definitely exciting. They could see _him._ Camera on his phone, no doubt. Hm.

He blocked the lens with his thumb, typing with the fingers of his other hand.

**I’m not too old to do my job, I promise. Who is this?**

The reply was almost instant, the little typing bubble popping up immediately.

**[Blocked Number]: aw, luv, dont block my view… now all i can see is your ugly sheets from the other side**

**[Blocked Number]: im a member of a crew thats been keeping tabs on you for a bit. Isnt that exciting, lovely ryan? Youve got a whole group of interested people. Actually, youve got a bit more than just us**

**[Blocked Number]: have you seen the fansites? Kids these days are off their rockers, i swear**

**[Blocked Number]: this is all a bit informal over text, though. How about i just come and talk in person?**

Ryan didn’t have time to process any of that before there was the sound of footfalls outside the door - something soft-soled, like tennis shoes - and then the turning-click of his doorknob being unlocked.

His motions were all instinct at that point - get up, get weapon (knife!), hide in the best place to allow a sneak attack. Easy as pie.

The footfalls entered his apartment - just the one set of feet - and then he heard the door shut behind the intruder. Didn’t lock it. Interesting.

“Hello?” His new friend sounded foreign, and it took him a moment to process the accent with the way his brain was pumping the word _PANIC_ over and over again through his skull. “I’d recommend not attacking me again! I’ll just have to drive all the way back, and that’s very inconvenient.” 

British, he considered. Yeah, definitely British. Like some kind of fucking lame Bond villain. 

That didn’t make sense, though. “If I attack you, you won’t be coming back.” he piped up, his tone dripping with a kind of casual, restrained amusement. Just what on earth was going on here? Had he passed out? Was this a fever-dream?

“Well, I came back once, didn’t I?” The footsteps faltered, and then he heard the… fridge opening? Was this guy going through his shit? “Bloody rude of you, by the way. Geoffrey spent thirty minutes waiting for me to get back to the bar.”

Bar. 

So… So the guy from the club, then? The sink-cocaine guy? That was impossible. He’d seen his grey matter oozing out against the off-white tile.

“What the fuck do you want-- What the fuck are you doing?” He decided to play it risky, taking a cautious step out of the bedroom and into the hall, knife still poised for attacking. He didn’t hear the footsteps approach him, even now.

“I want to talk to you, you dolt. Already said that.” He heard the fridge door close and then the telltale sound of a Diet Coke can being popped open. “Christ, you really oughta do some shopping. Nothing in here but pop.” 

“I… Have been a little busy to go down to the fucking Whole Foods.” 

He peered around the corner for just a moment - caught sight of a slender, relatively tall figure sitting illuminated behind the kitchen bar. A different shirt, but a familiar frame - one he’d been thinking about ever since he watched it collapse to the ground. One he’d been idly considering masturbating to, once he settled in for the evening. 

He felt a kind of headrush, his brain trying to rationalize what was going on. Was this guy a ghost? Some kind of humanoid manifestation of all his guilt and sin? Or had he just done a rush job, not killed him as good as he could have.

The last one was expressly unlikely - even if he hadn’t died where he’d dropped him, he would certainly not be in any shape to go breaking into people’s houses and chatting them up.

“Well, no worries.” The other man didn’t approach him, even now, just maintained that casual bravado. He was acting like he was visiting his friend’s house for a chat, sliding onto one of Ryan’s barstools. 

Ryan didn’t know what to do with himself. His brain felt weird. His limbs felt kind of clumsy and stupid, like maybe he was going into shock or something. The adrenaline had his blood rushing to his ears. 

He moved towards the intruder, knife still by his hip, completely disregarding any hope of cover.

Up close - in better lighting - he could make out his features a lot better. Pretty handsome dude - big nose on him, messy lightish-brown hair, a smarmy little smirk on his tan, fuzzy face. He was wearing a different dress shirt from the one he’d seen him in earlier - this one a silky, expensive looking maroon. There was a nice, dark patch of chest hair peeking out from the open collar.

He looked like a card shark, or a shitty accident lawyer. Not a ghost.

“Who are you?” He asked him, not quite sure if he’d already said that or not. “Also, uh. That’s mine.” He reached out across the bar, grabbed the silver can out from Gavin’s limp grasp. 

“What, no refreshments for guests? No manners on you hotshot criminals, I swear.” The other man’s grin widened - a nice, shark-like tilt to it, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m Gavin Free! And you’re Ryan Haywood, aren’t you?” He extended his hand - wet from the soda can - and rested one elbow casually on the kitchen counter.

“Uh.” Said Ryan, smartly. He took a slow sip from the coke in his hand. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on.”

“Well, all that’s pretty simple, innit?” Gavin slapped his hand down against the counter loud enough to startle Ryan a little, apparently not that pleased that his current audience was playing stupid. “You cracked my skull open down at that dog’s bollocks of a club, my lovely boss found me, realized who you were, and we decided to take the opportunity to formally address you. Duh.”

“Uh.” He repeated. Took another sip. “I killed you.” 

“Yeh.” Gavin nodded, his expression growing increasingly exasperated. He looked like he was trying to explain something to a toddler. “Slit me fair and square. But we’ve been interested in you for a while! You just happened to cross paths with us tonight.” He reached up, scratched at his head, just above his left ear. 

Point of impact. Blood staining his hair, pasting it down against his skull, lovely and warm in the piss-yellow bathroom light. Grabbed him by that hair -well taken care of, too much hairspray - and slammed his face forward again and again until the squawking-screaming had turned into a wet, pathetic gurgle and--

Gavin snapped his fingers in front of Ryan’s face, making the other man reach for his knife. “Hey, luv, ya still with us? Didn’t realize the infamous Vagabond was loose a few screws in the, uh, intelligence department. Christ, what are you, a bloody dog?” 

“No, I. I just. I don’t fucking understand what’s going on. I don’t understand why you’re in my kitchen trying to drink my coke or-- or--” Hiring him? Was he here to like… invite him into a gang or something? What the fuck?

“God, hush.” Gavin slipped forward, dug his phone out of the pocket of his trousers. “Have you not ever heard of respawn technology? C’mon now, luv, you can’t be that out of the loop. You’re in Los Santos.” 

“Respawn. Like… video games?” 

“No. Well, I mean, yeh, kinda. It’s expensive as bollocks but it keeps our ship runnin’ nice and smooth! What’s a slittin or two when you can wake up with a fresh new body and not a worry in the world?” 

This was all kind of a lot. Maybe he had heard of that - seen it in some deepweb forum title, some spam of nonsense words he’d assumed led only to a series of computer-ruining viruses destined for the desktops of stupider, more gullible freaks.

“I mean, I don’t really… do anything criminal. Outside of contract work.”

“Wot?” Gavin seemed sort of startled by that, his eyebrows raising and his phone clacking against the countertop as he sat it down. Rose gold. “Did somebody put a hit out on me? I wasn’t even doing nothin this time! Who was it? Was it Jack again? I’ll slit that bitch’s fat ass from throat to--” 

“No, that was… uh. An impulse.” He felt bad for whoever Jack was, but… Maybe she was also in the respawn or whatever? If not, well. Just another corpse, he supposed. “I don’t usually do things so messily.”

Gavin’s expression softened, his lidded eyes dropping closed for a moment before a little coo escaped his lips. He put a hand on Ryan’s bicep, making him stiffen but… not move to attack. “Aww, so I was special? That’s cute. Still pissed at ya for ruining my night, but we’ll deal with that once we’ve got you in the crew.”

The hand against his skin was warm. He could see little freckles beneath the hair on Gavin’s fingers. Weird. 

His heart was racing.

“Why should I join your crew? You’ve told me next to nothing aside from the fact that they’ve apparently got some annoying, immortal British kid on the team.” 

“Aw, come off it! I’m not annoying!” Gavin’s grip tightened before he released him entirely, once more returning to his phone, texting someone something. “Anyways, we’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted, luv. Money, resources, guns, cars…” He paused, looked up into Ryan’s tired blue eyes. “Maybe a better disguise than that ugly Party City mask you keep sporting.”

“Hey-- Hey, my mask isn’t ugly! It’s threatening.” It was a Halloween mask from Target, actually. Not Party City.

“It’s about as threatening as a kitten in a storm drain, luv.” Gavin slid his phone towards Ryan, showing him a slideshow of images. Guns, fire, bloodshed, money-- lots and lots of money. 

“Heists!” Gavin said, after a moment, sounding excited. “We do heists, and we’re bloody well good at them, too.” 

“Uh… Heists? Like bank robberies?” Ryan tilted his head, tapping the hilt of his knife against the counter. “I don’t think that’s really my speed. I usually prefer killing stuff.”

“Well, no shite, idiot.” Gavin locked his phone screen just as it started to transition to another image - some expanse of pale, freckled skin. “We need some more chaos, is what Geoff’s been saying. Says the Fakes need a new member, and he’s been watching just about all the footage he can get of ya. Had me hack the security cams at the club just to see you work me over!” 

“Wh…” He frowned. “You mentioned I had fans? What the hell is that about--”

“That’s for later. Nothing important, just a bunch of internet weirdos. Important shite right now is when you think you’ll be interested in coming down to meet the boys, get enlisted properly.”

“I haven’t agreed to join your club.” 

“Are you really going to say no?” Gavin hummed. He reached into the front pocket of his shirt, withdrew his thumb coated in thin white powder. Stuffed it into the side of his mouth for a moment, massaging the cocaine into his gumline. 

Was he? 

Hadn’t he just been thinking about how dull life as a solo assassin was? How he craved… chaos? Newness? Action?

There wasn’t much newer than getting hired by a bunch of crazy immortal people, he supposed.

“I guess not.” He finally acquiesced, tilting the can of coke back up to his lips and gulping it down until he’d emptied it. He tossed the can in into the recycling bin, where it clattered against its brothers. 

“That’s top! I knew you couldn’t resist.” Gavin grinned, his pupils blown wide. A little manic. “Welcome to the Fakes, Mr. Vagabond.” He reached out, and Ryan thought he was going to try shaking his hand again, but then suddenly there was a skinny, tan man pressed clean up against his chest, pinning him back against his own kitchen counter.

He probably should’ve pushed him away - he most certainly was capable of it - but Gavin had moved with such intent, such speed, that he was kind of struck dumb looking down into those wide, dark eyes of his. His mouth felt dry. 

“What, uh… What’re you doing?” 

“Nothin.” Gavin replied, casual as ever, slipping a hand up under the hem of Ryan’s shirt. It was the same one he’d worn out. Still sticky and stained with Gavin’s blood.

The thought made something terrible twitch inside him -- a man he’d killed in cold blood was now sitting here feeling him up, pressing warm and alive against his own bloodstains. That was… unspeakable. 

“Yanno, luv, ya really did a number on me. Haven’t been treated so poorly in ages.” Gavin was sighing a bit, and he paused long enough to dip out another thumbful of coke, this time drawing it up to his left nostril and taking a deep, sharp inhale. Ryan could feel him shiver against his chest, his fingernails digging into his skin lightly.

He felt kind of frozen - like a bewildered, tired statue. His heart was pounding in his ears and there was a very handsome, very dangerous, very high man touching him and he was probably going to be dead before the sun came up.

“I… I’m sorry?” He tried. Maybe an apology would keep him from getting knifed in the gut or whatever. He had no idea how an immortal man might fight, and especially one who was hyped up on drugs. 

“No, no.” Gavin cooed, his grin returning - shiny and sharp. “Don’t apologize. It’s kinda exciting.” His fingers drifted upwards, tugging up the hem of Ryan’s shirt. He exposed his stomach and chest - littered with scars, lean enough, despite the way he was kind of developing a bit of a belly. There was blood crusted on his skin - maroon and dark in the kitchen light. 

There was something incredibly lewd about having this stranger expose him like this - peer him over like he was a piece of meat - and Ryan felt his cock twitch in his jeans. He made a move, finally - drew the hand still limply clutching the knife upwards, dug the edge of the blade none-too-gently into the fuzzy skin under Gavin’s jaw. “What’re you doing, kid?” 

Gavin quirked an eyebrow at him, unflinching from the cold edge of the blade. Ryan saw the smallest bead of blood swell up against his tan throat. “What’s it look like, ya bloody idiot? Gonna get my rocks off.” 

“Your…” Oh. So… this wasn’t a murder thing. This was a sex thing.

Ryan had a brief, irrational thought. He’d never been with a man before -- he’d gotten with his wife freshman year of college and-

And none of that mattered now, did it? He hadn’t been in college for a long time.

Gavin was warm, his fingers tickling along the soft plane of Ryan’s stomach, tracing against the trail of hair that dipped down towards his beltline. His erection was visible through his designer jeans, and Ryan felt himself swallow as he caught sight of it. 

The knife clattered to the floor like it was nothing, and then his broad hand was curled around the back of Gavin’s neck and he was yanking him forward, crushing their lips together.

Gavin made a pleased, excited little squawk against Ryan’s lips, digging his own fingers into Ryan’s shoulders, standing up on his toes, letting his shirt fall back down where it belonged. 

What a lovely, lovely night this was shaping up to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where things get nasty. Gavin is a bad dom and Ryan doesn't get the aftercare he needs, so keep that in mind! <3

Gavin gained control of the situation almost seamlessly – grabbing at Ryan’s ass with one greedy hand, the other tangling itself in the messy bun at the base of his neck. This was his game, and for what he was worth, Ryan did seem pretty willing to play it. 

He pushed him backwards, shoving him into the little dividing wall between the kitchen and the livingroom without ever really pulling back. He was kissing him like he wanted to devour him alive, his teeth digging into Ryan’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

After a long, heated moment, he withdrew, lips swollen and eyes dark with a frenzied kind of excitement. He blinked up at the assassin, took note of how nice his eyes were. They’d looked nice earlier, too - when he’d seen them in the mirror before he died. 

“Can I shag your mouth?” Gavin asked, his voice high and croaky, fingers shaking against Ryan’s warm, firm biceps. He wanted to see those pretty eyes looking up at him, this time. Wanted to see them well up with tears.

Ryan faltered. What… Did he… He wanted Ryan to suck him off. This stranger – this man who’d broken into his apartment with the apparent singular motivation of making him feel like he was losing his mind… Wanted a blowjob.

He didn’t know what to say, so he just sorta stared at him wide-eyed for a long moment, before blurting out, “I don’t know how to blow a guy.”

Gavin blinked twice before snorting sharply. His hands came up, cupping Ryan’s stubbly cheeks in between sweaty, twitchy fingers. “Aw, luv, that’s adorable!” He slid his palms down the sides of his neck, admiring the stratchy feeling of his facial hair.

They kept moving lower still, though, his fingers dripping down the expanse of Ryan’s chest, nice and slow, admiring the dark splatters of his own blood in the fabric.

Ryan shuddered under his fingertips. He felt completely enraptured in this bizarre situation - by the pressure of Gavin’s hands against his chest. His heart was hammering against the other man’s palms.

And then, before he could really grasp what was happening, he was being shoved backwards. He stutter-stepped along, eyes glued to the dark little grin on Gavin’s face, his brain chugging like a dying computer processor. 

He found himself shoved bodily down onto his own sofa, the cheap plastic faux-leather creaking under his ass. And then he was staring up at Gavin properly, his blue eyes filled with a kind of bewildered excitement. He’d be so embarrassed by all this tomorrow, but for now he was fully lost in the confusion.

Gavin flashed him a needle-sharp grin, cocking his head to the side as he undid the button on his shorts. “You ready, lovely Ryan? I’ll be nice an’ gentle.”

“Uh.” He swallowed, throat clicking. The weirdness of this entire situation was hitting him in waves - the fact that he’d allowed this man into his house without so much as a protest, the fact that he’d let him kiss him, the fact that he was more or less agreeing to suck off this-- this ghost! This spectre of a man he’d definitely dispatched—

It was all almost too much to bare, the whole thing making him kind of dizzy. That must be why he was agreeing so easily – the fact that he was disoriented. Why else would he be willingly allowing this to happen, let alone practically drooling for it? Why else would his cock be so hard at the concept of getting skullfucked by a man he’d murdered?

He wondered, distantly, why he was getting so much enjoyment out of being bossed around like this. Wondered if it meant something about him, or if he’d just manifested a kind of death wish. The attention was nice, though - filled the aching loneliness he’d been pondering over earlier. Maybe that would be enough for now. Attention and confusion like a headrush. Letting it overtake him.

Gavin stared down at him for a long moment, his eyes filled with wine-dark hunger – an eagerness to take control. To think that he had the Vagabond between his knees – and with so little struggle! If he’d known the other criminal would be so easy to keel then he would’ve went after him sooner. 

He undid his zip, shimmying the shorts down his thighs, taking his underwear with them. And then he was standing with his cock in his hand, still smiling that cocky, greedy smile. 

Ryan drew an unintentionally sharp inhale at the sight of Gavin’s cock – holy shit. He hadn’t been sure what he expected, but it was… Well. It was big for one thing. Flushed pink but still just as pretty and tan as the rest of him. The head was just peeking out from beneath his foreskin, slick with precum. The thrill of having another person’s cock right in front of him was foreign but not unwelcome – it formed an almost overwhelming knot of arousal in his stomach, a spike of adrenaline. 

He’d never wanted to put something in his mouth so badly in his entire life. 

Gavin made a chuffed little noise, easing forward and wrapping his hands back in Ryan’s hair, curling the dark locks around his fingers. And now his dick was right in Ryan’s face, and the other man just couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, all on his own, and pressed an overly eager, open-mouthed kiss against the side of it. 

“Oh, shite,” Gavin choked, an amused little giggle spilling out of him as he watched Ryan debase himself like that, practically grinding his face against his dick. It was kind of spellbinding, watching this grown man, this serial killer, nose at his prick like he’d found salvation. “Haha, guess you are a bit of a slut, yeh?”

Ryan didn’t respond, just furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, sliding his tongue along the underside of Gavin’s dick. His motions – while endearingly eager – were clumsy, and Gavin wasn’t going to sit here and get mouthed at all night. 

He was a man on a mission, after all.

He wrapped a hand in Ryan’s long hair, curling it around his fingers, and pulled his head back, sliding the slick head of his cock against his lips. He teased him for a moment, enjoying the flustered look on his face, before slowly pushing forward. “Aw, that’s it, there we go.” 

While Ryan wasn’t particularly experienced with sucking anyone off, he did a decent enough job – sucking and licking at him eagerly while Gavin guided his head. The whole experience was nice and warm and slow – easy to settle into the motions, the comfortable grip of Gavin’s fingers digging into his scalp. 

Gavin let his head loll back as he moved – slow and lazy, ruminating in the warm buzz from the coke and the feeling of Ryan’s slick tongue sliding along the underside of his prick, lapping at him like he was just fucking starved. This night couldn’t have gone better if he planned it! 

“S’good, luv. You’re a natural.” He chuckled, rolling his hips forward as he held the other man stationary, stuffing his cock down his throat and holding it there. He could feel Ryan’s throat sieze up against the intrusion, a drooly gagging sound spilling past his swollen lips. God, but those vibrations… “Don’t bloody puke on me.” He mumbled.

The room was starting to get hazy around him – hot with sex and adrenaline and the thrill of taking. He’d never had such an easy time getting some big strong criminal to submit to him.

He was distracted from his musing when Ryan properly gagged again, his broad hands coming up to almost gently paw at his thighs. Oopsie. Poor thing still needed to breathe! 

He dragged him backwards, watched him slide off of his cock with a wet pop, drool dripping down his chin. He was panting hard, rocked back in the seat, his eyes blown out – a million miles away. It was perfect… The expression he’d been dreaming of, his eyes watery and his bottom lip swollen and quivering. 

He gave Ryan a moment, holding him tight by his hair, as he fished his phone back out of his pocket. “Say cheese!” He cooed, snapping a few quick pictures before Ryan really registered what was going on. He’d send those to Geoffrey later. Confirmation of a job well-done. 

Ryan looked like he wanted to say something, like he was trying to form a thought, but his brain was just melted – he was awash in a tingly, distant feeling. A sleepy desire to get Gavin’s cock back in his mouth before he had to worry about anything else.

Luckily enough, Gavin was happy to oblige that line of thought – he slid his hand down the back of Ryan’s head, petting through his sweaty hair before he pulled him back forward. He didn’t hesitate this time – letting out a low groan as he rocked forward, shoved his dick down his throat in one slippery, smooth motion.

He was a bit more prepared that time, managed to swallow around it without choking himself. He wanted to do a good job, wanted the other man to cum down his throat. 

“Aw, shite-“ Gavin swallowed, voice thick as he stuttered his hips forward, roughly fucking into Ryan’s mouth. He was closer than he’d thought – heart racing a mile a minute as he started to move properly. Sharp, unsteady thrusts into the warm tightness of Ryan’s throat, his eyes squeezed shit. “Fuck fuck fuck, yeh, c’mon now—” He slurred, drooling a little as he moved, grinding Ryan’s nose against his fuzzy pelvis.

He didn’t last long like that – his muscles tensing as he clutched at the back of Ryan’s skull, holding him flush with his sweaty skin, suffocating him as he spilled hot and wet down the back of his throat. 

He pulled off after just a moment, grinding his softening prick against the other man’s stubbly cheek with a giddy little laugh. “Aw yeh, that’s it, boy.” 

Ryan swallowed almost on reflex just to keep himself from aspirating on semen, his head flopping back against the cushion when Gavin was finally done with him – drooly and completely fucked-out. Jesus, he hadn’t even touched himself the whole time… His dick was hard between his legs, but he really had no idea if Gavin was planning on actually touching him or not. 

Felt like he should wait anyway – wait for permission. Huh. He’d never been one for direction before, had he?

He was still sort of hoping Gavin had further plans, even as he blearily watched the other man tuck his cock back into his underwear and do up his zipper. “Aw, look at you. What a pretty mess!” Gavin chuckled, sliding a hand down Ryan’s cheek, revelling in the way he leaned into it. “We’ll have to do this again, once we’ve got you in respawn. Have some real fun.” 

And then he was turning around, heading for the door, leaving Ryan with an almost cripplingly hard erection. He was fully bewildered – hadn’t expected him to just leave as soon as he was done with him. He felt his heart skip and he sat up, swallowing thickly. “Wait, uh- Where are you—”

“Wot?” Gavin turned back to him, hand on the doorknob. “Did you think I was going to do you a favor? You murdered me, luv. This was just payback.” 

And then – like he’d never been there at all – he was gone, all but the echo of his shoes on the hallway carpet outside.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are appreciated! I'll likely post a follow-up at some point, as this takes place in the main FAHC universe I've been toying around with. Thanks for reading!


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